


Sasayaki: Please, I Need This

by Sakurthigh



Category: BUCK-TICK
Genre: Bondage, Dom/sub, Exhibitionism, F/M, J-ROCK Band, Oral Sex, Visual Kei
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-27
Updated: 2020-03-27
Packaged: 2021-03-01 06:53:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,694
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23347240
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sakurthigh/pseuds/Sakurthigh
Summary: A PV actress experiences a lot more than she expected to on set.
Relationships: Atsushi Sakurai/PV Actress
Comments: 2
Kudos: 6





	Sasayaki: Please, I Need This

**Author's Note:**

> This one-shot fic was originally written and published by myself to LiveJournal on October 13, 2012, and has been imported to Archive of Our Own to preserve it.

They hired me to do this Japanese Rock video because I was a foreigner. The director had a particular concept in mind, and he said he needed someone "exotic" (read: light eyed, with a westerner's build) to accentuate the fetishy mood he was trying to portray. Though I'd never done anything like this before, they hired me from my agent's book at the modeling agency I work for. The band gave their approval, but it was mostly his idea.

How hard could it be? Strut around a little, vamp for the camera just like I would for your typical photo shoot, and walk away… I won't have to deal with it after that because it's only going to be shown in Japan anyway. It's all about sex appeal in the end, right?

That's what I thought, but by three this afternoon I began to deeply regret that decision.

Filming had begun on Monday, starting with the band-only segments. Tuesday I was allowed on the set, and by late morning, they filmed me with some of the guys in the band… nothing particularly complicated- mostly posing with them in tableaus or swaying to the music. Towards the end of the day I was introduced to Sakurai, the band’s lyricist/vocalist that I would be working alone with on Wednesday, but it was only a cursory introduction. He seemed professional, but a bit withdrawn and lost in thought.

I may have been imagining it, but he had this strange sphere of solitary sadness around him… an air of inapproachability that didn’t really push you away, but so strong it forced you to watch from the sidelines, like an observer looking in from the outside. It wasn't as noticeable when he was with the other band members performing for the camera, but this is what struck me when we met. He was not a simple man. A twinge of something I couldn't quite figure out set off warning flags for me, and I brushed it aside- I'm pushing outside of the comfort zone of what I'm used to, doing something different for the first time… it happens.

After that meeting I started to get a little nervous about the next day's shoot though, and by morning I was a shy klutz- nothing like my normal self. Language barrier wasn't an issue; the director had selected me from the the handful of women in my agency that could speak Japanese somewhat fluently; but the subculture they came from was so different, there was no familiar turf. I had no idea what to do or what to make of any of it.

The scenes where he and I were near the bed that was center upstage were done first since they were simple, to get us into the flow of working together. The director explained the scene carefully to me in casual but respectful Japanese. "I want to emphasize the action in the lyrics between you two a bit, and play them out... this is supposed to be taking place inside his fantasy world. You're a part of that fantasy... a vague sexy figure in his imagination while he's alone, that’s closer to an archetype, not actually a real person that he's known or met. You have to be in charge and dominant, but in a more tantalizing than harsh kind of way… it's the only way we can imply the 'dirty talk' angle since none of the audio from any of this will be in the video itself."

"Got it." I nodded a single nod. We took our positions, and the signal was given for the camera to start rolling. Sakurai sat on the side of the bed and retreated within himself, his eyes shuttered off and distant- not at all what I expected. I couldn't tell if he was shy, or what, and I faltered.

"CUT!" Filming came to a stop, and I was taken aside by one of the staff, a consultant for choreography. "I don't know how familiar you are with this kind of fetish play in general,” he said in a diplomatic tone, “but the concept of domination and submission can take on a different feel in Japan than it does in Europe. A woman being dominant implies a culturally taboo switching of gender roles, and the man takes on the meek, traditionally woman's role. It's a very intense experience for a man. He's OK, and everything's fine- just be mildly assertive, and that should be sufficient."

It sounded odd, but as I thought about it, it occurred to me that it would make my role a little easier… I didn't have to give off that “honed steel” edge that I'd noticed some of the pros had- I’d picked up on that in the handful of adult videos I’d rented while prepping myself for the role. Whatever they want, I don't care- there's just today and tomorrow's work, then it's done- a quick blip, but it looks good on my resume.

We moved on to to an act change, and crew set up for the next segment. An armless wooden chair was put on the gaffer tape spike marked area that was downstage right, and the lighting changed. Sakurai sat down as he was directed to, and held onto the seat as I'd seen a customer do at a “gentleman’s club” that I visited last week. Customers weren't allowed to touch the girl during lap dances, and to guarantee that all hands were accounted for, they would either sit on their hands or grab the sides of the chair's seat as if they were tied in place. This at least was familiar.

This act had more time put into it than the first one we shot, starting out with lyrics lip syncing on his part, while I danced. He loosened up a bit, but didn’t appear to notice me at all. Whether he found me attractive or not was questionable... if he did, I've never seen a man with such self control: I was invisible.

Being invisible to him afforded me a comfort zone of a sort, and I relaxed. I was expecting a lot more aggressiveness on display than this today, but rather than the big “bad boy” rock star, it looked to me that hedonism was more his thing. Since I was standing behind him, I went with the impulse and leaned over, slowly nuzzling the side of his face and neck with my own. Finally he responded to something I did- he closed his eyes sensually and tilted his head, taking it in. It was something, but I don't think it was what the director had hoped for.

The director spoke quietly to the choreographer, and the choreographer left the main set for a few minutes. When he returned they moved us downstage center, placing the chair Sakurai had been using onto a gaffer tape spike mark on the floor. The lighting designer quickly adjusted lights on the fly since this wasn’t in the original script, and then a big steel pitcher was brought in by an assistant and was handed to me.

"Water?" I questioned the choreographer. "Trust me. Stand over here, and throw it at him."

Cameras began to roll again, and nervously I did as I was told, throwing the water across the room. It hit Sakurai square in the face, full force. Great... now I've really botched things up. The stunned look he had as the water hit him like a brick quickly turned to controlled reserve. Was he angry? I couldn't tell, but his vibe had definitely changed; his guarded barrier had dropped.

"Scotchgard. He’s like a water magnet- if there’s water to be found anywhere nearby, he’s there. We're used to it.” laughed the wardrobe assistant, waving her hand in a Japanese gesture of easy dismissal when I voiced concern for possibly having damaged his suit. There was a short break while they dried him off a bit, then it was my turn.

I sat in the chair he had recently occupied and Sakurai hit his mark, looming over me and staring down with an aloof expression. Something felt different… was he trying to intimidate me? No… I must be imagining things. We waited silently until the lighting designer was done with necessary adjustments, and they brought out the pitcher, once more full to the brim. He nodded and accepted the pitcher without breaking eye contact with me, and the fine hair on my legs and back stood up.

"Action!" Sakurai placed his left hand on his hip, and lifted the pitcher high overhead, keeping me pinned with his gaze. I looked at him, then the pitcher, and back again, and a flickering sadistic gleam sparked through his eyes for a moment and was gone, hidden beneath his cool mask-like expression… but I know I saw it. The water came down in a slow stream that went on and on. My eyes started to sting from my makeup dissolving, and I shook my hair out of my face on reflex and looked back at him.

Was he smiling? The ghost of an expression that he wore as he scanned my reaction sure did look satisfied. My heart stopped for a second, then felt like it flopped over and thudded out of rhythm… the enigmatic cruel edge suited his features, making them more handsome. I shivered.

His brow slightly rose- those eyes did not miss a thing. Awareness curled from the back of my legs, and tingled through the juncture of my thighs. His eyelids lowered slightly and the smile that had been hinted at earlier subtly deepened into something sinister. I shivered again, and looked away, disgusted. I'm not here for mind games.

My hair had been kept unflatteringly simple- I think the hairdresser had difficulty with how fine my hair was- but it made it very easy to clean me up after being soaked. A pass of a comb to tidy it was all it took, but my makeup had to be scrubbed off and re-done from scratch while my outfit was hung up to dry out. The bonus of using PVC: it scored no visible damage. I began to suspect that even though the water scene wasn't on the story boards for the video, the director had kept it up his sleeve as an option.

When I came out of the dressing room, I was taken to a different stage. It was a little smaller than the previous one, with only one feature: a wall with shackles on it. The director was beaming and animated in his conversation, looking altogether too perky and innocent for the strange vibe that hung in the air. He was definitely up to something.

Sakurai was being locked into the shackles on his mark while the director discussed the scene with me. "I know that this act is going to be the most difficult to shoot- it requires a lot of physical movement on your part, and keeping it looking natural and not dull is going to be a challenge. I'm going to shoot it from a few different camera angles, and we may go overtime… but I would like to have this particular scene completely filmed and in the can by this evening for continuity's sake." He practically sparkled with giddiness, and was trying to hide it. Great.

Filming resumed with a smaller crew on hand, some of them likely dismissed for the evening to reduce costs if we ended up going overtime. As I took my mark, Sakurai darted a glance for a moment then dropped his eyes and withdrew. He seemed a bit nervous, but an emotionless barricade slipped into place, making me wonder if I'd imagined it. We shot two camera angles, then took a break for him to rest his shoulders and arms, get the blood flowing a little bit. I had a sinking feeling that we would be here for some time tonight- his acting had become cardboard, even worse than this morning.

I sat and sipped a bottle of spring water, and rubbed my ankles. "Try to loosen him up a little," the director advised. "We've got very little usable footage of this so far… it looks stiff and awkward. Get him more involved."

"What exactly should I do to get him 'more involved'?" I asked, and my wariness must have been noticed- he waved his hand, brushing away the question. "Oh, nothing was specified in the story board- we’re doing this organically. Just do your best, and don't hold back. We can use what works, and edit out what doesn't. You'll do great- we’re counting on you!" I tried to look him in the eye, but he avoided it with a vague smile and excused himself to get people back into their positions.

The assistant assigned to take care of the shackles was standing near the break table still, trying to knock back the last of his paper cup full of stale coffee as fast as he could. Sakurai was pacing near his mark, and stopped to rub his hands on his face and took a few deep breaths. He was nervous? No. Couldn't be… he's not new to the music scene, he's been doing this sort of thing for years. He shook his hands out with the final breath, and rotated his wrists. Ah- he's just preparing to be locked up, and getting his energy up, I thought… and he looked around the set to get his bearings, accidentally making eye contact with me for a moment. No, he's on edge… but why?

Something told me that I was in for a lot more than I first expected, and I quickly squashed it down. Ridiculous. The director was obscured on the other side of the camera, but my instincts said that it wasn't incidental- he was avoiding us. My brow felt tense, and I gently smoothed them with my fingertips, easing them apart. Scowling is a habit that I don't want to keep, even if it's justified. "Let's get this going already," I sighed and stood.

"Action!" The camera started, picking up where we left off. Sway, dance, yadda, yadda, yadda. This sucks- Sakurai is putting up that wall again. I might as well not be here. It’s making me look bad, and I'll never get another shot at something like this again. Do my best? Fuck it- you got it Mr. Director.

I turned around and faced the camera, with my back to him. I could feel he was tense, not knowing what I was going to do. You like dishing out mind games? Try this one. I rolled my hips, and lightly brushed my rear end over his crotch. PVC grabbed on the metal of his belt buckle and tugged, making the move a little higher contact than I'd planned... the added grab pulled my hip and it swept over him with intimate pressure. His gasp was nearly inaudible, and his back went rigid, though he tried to hide it.

He turned his head, and looked at the floor, avoiding me. I was still the invisible girl, and now upset; that wall of his was standing between me and a believable scene. I gritted my teeth. He dumps water over my head and leers a challenge, then won't step up to it when the shoe is on the other foot?! Not happening on my time.

I reached behind myself with my left hand and set it on the front of his hip barely an inch or two away from his groin, then slid it around the back of his upper thigh, pulling back in for another roll of my hips, but this time deliberately circling a path over his cock. His breathing sped up slightly- almost undetectable, but it did, and he turned his head the other way, avoiding the camera and trying not to look like he was.

The tension in the room became palpable, but the director said nothing, and the crew hardly moved- the only sound from them was the rustling of someone’s rolled up production notes being crushed and another person was fidgeting, flicking a fingernail on the clip of their ball point pen, but stopped when they realized others could hear it. My own heart was pounding too- I’m not sure if it was nerves, or from the sheer risk I was taking. The director wanted me to get him "more involved"- so hey, I’m just following direction, I resolved. I'll get him more involved, alright.

I strutted and swayed past him once or twice then turned my back to the camera and faced him. My gloved hand touched the side of his thigh, and slid up over his hip, over his belly and chest, then the tips of my fingers feathered over the side of his neck. Sakurai kept his eyes down, glued to the floor, but his breathing had almost stopped and his jaw tightened. His skin began to flush, and I realized what was going on: he wasn't giving me the cold shoulder, this was all too real for him. He was overwhelmed. He liked it too much, and didn't want others to know it.

Interesting. I looked up at his shackled wrist, and chuckled quietly. What a kink- here we were filming this video, and it was his own personal fantasy. After how miserable it'd been through today's filming, I couldn't let this opportunity pass.

Tracing the tips of my glove over the nape of his neck, I drew close and tasted the perspiration that had started to appear on his neck just below the jaw. He trembled and arched his neck slightly, and tried to keep up the charade that he was just looking at the floor. I raised my head, brushing my lips over his jaw, on their way to whisper in his ear. "You like this, don't you?"

His eyes went wide. Bulls-eye. He blinked, trying to regain composure and his jaw worked, tense from clenching his teeth, but he said nothing. I laughed. "Huh."

Finally he spoke, trying to gain the upper hand. "Do you actually think I’d do that sort of thing? What kind of person do you think I am?!” He glared defiantly, but it did't wash with me- I'd already seen through him. Ooh, this is fun.

"I'll tell you exactly what I think- I think you've been hiding behind your character; I think you wrote a little too close to home, and are putting up a false front because now you have to act it out in front of others and you don't want them to know how bad this gets you going." I quietly grated the words through my teeth, and punctuated it with a nip on his ear lobe. Sakurai's eyes became enraged saucers and his nostrils flared, but he said nothing in reply. I had him.

My other hand was at the waist of his pants, and I pushed my fingers inside, past the edge of his belt. I squared my shoulders back so my breasts were touching his chest, and in the process gave a little show: the too-snug PVC bustier snagged onto a button from his jacket, yanking my top down as I pushed out, exposing the top half of my nipples. Wool suiting fabric made the crushed flesh itch just a little, and the tips tightened into points, stimulated from the fabric. They didn't escape his notice. Unplanned, but I went with it.

My fingers continued to tease his waist beneath his belt, and I leaned back until just the tips of my hardened nipples touched his jacket front. My hips pressed up against his and I rolled them again, subtly gyrating against him. He was hard, but I didn't need to come in contact with him to know it. He stood immobile, crackling with arousal and his teeth were bared.

"I'm an average, normal man," he said in a low voice. "Who wouldn't be turned on by being groped up by a half-dressed woman like this?" His eyes looked almost black, glittering and aggressive. Still trying to deny it, and take control of the situation.

I made a show of looking over my shoulder towards the camera. "Really? It will be interesting to see them go over the dailies from today. We're still rolling." His eyes darted over to the camera in a panic, and tried to see past the glare of the lights to the director, but couldn't. A violent shudder passed through him, and he licked his lips.

I backed off, exposing his front to the camera for the first time. His jacket was a little wrinkled up from my game and his cock was harder than a rock… the fine wool pants did nothing to hide it. His face flushed red.

"Being tied up, powerless under a barrage of 'dirty talk' does nothing for you then? Or… being seen, inescapably watched as you describe fantasy after erotic fantasy in graphic detail? Let's see how much of a turn off all of this is for you, how much you despise it." I sank to my knees and sat on my heels, and started to unbuckle his belt. The gloves that I had to wear were hopelessly too large for me, but I managed to slide the zipper down without too much awkwardness. Hooking my fingers into the waistband of his underwear, I pulled them down with his pants, in one movement.

He stood with his wrists shackled in place spread out over his head, unable to turn away or hide. The studio lights were merciless, glaring down… shining in reflection off of the pre-cum that had been flowing for quite some time already. His eyes sparkled with tears of humiliation and arousal, but far from going limp from the horror of being exposed, he got harder; the head of his cock started to turn rosy-violet and became so full it looked like it might even hurt. There was no going back, and he knew it.

The fear I'd sensed earlier fell away, and the presence he radiated was pure, unflinching eroticism… and it was absolutely lovely. I forgot myself in that heat and crawled the short distance between us and kneeled, looking up at him. His eyes narrowed to wild inky blackness; his breath shallowed to nothing more than panting through his swollen and parted lips, glossed with sheer apricot color for the scene. Given in to lust, he was spectacular… I couldn't breathe.

My body had a will of its own, drawn to his erection, and I brushed my lips on the underside, to feel the slick wetness. I raised my chin and looked up into his eyes just as the tip of my tongue came in contact with his cock, tracing the tiny opening and tasting the tingling bitterness of his pre-cum. His eyes rolled back and he sobbed an aroused cry like I've never heard before; the sound of it almost brought me to orgasm. Someone gasped and whispered, and I heard a clicking, skittering noise that sounded like whoever had been fidgeting with their pen earlier had finally fumbled and dropped it in shock. It was enough to snap me out of the haze that I was in, and I realized how very much invested I was in this myself.

I've crossed the line between what I have to do for the gig, and taken things out of bounds. I tried to take this man down a notch, and ended up crashing and burning myself. What the fuck do I do now? I panic and take off now, and that's it- it'll be obvious I'm in over my head, and it's bad for everybody. He's stuck like this and humiliated, and I'm out of a career. What the hell have I done? Horror and guilt seized me and I started to black out into a faint.

Low, shocked, gossiping voices beginning to chatter behind me brought me back before I collapsed, but my mind was numb, frozen. "... you alright?" I looked up, thinking I'd hallucinated the whisper, but Sakurai looked down at me, and though still intensely aroused, subtle concern touched the edge of his gaze. I was stunned and couldn't reply. "I… I…" Tears started to blur my vision. A look of understanding I never expected from him crossed his features, and compassion.

"Do it." his voice was a bare whisper I could hardly hear, and I know that no one else could tell that he had spoken. He'd been in this kind of situation before, and was offering the only chance for a life-line. I closed my eyes as my mind took this in, still reeling, but knowing he was right, then opened my eyes. "OK now?" he asked in that low tone, and I blinked again, then nodded slightly and swallowed the tight knot that had formed in my throat.

Sakurai raised his voice slightly- though still whispering, he made sure that everyone could hear it. "Please, I need this…" he begged, panting through clenched teeth. His eyes burned into me, not a trace of the camaraderie left in his expression- just pure, raw lust.

A fierce wave of need tore through me like blue-black fire, consuming the air and everything around me… only my feral desire remained. My hands passed over his hips, and his cock was in my mouth- soft, velvety skin like buttery kidskin suede against my tongue. His breath was heavy and labored, and then he groaned a low groan that broke into sobbing cries. Every hair on my body stood up in response; I pulled back, then took him in as deep as I could… I had to have him in me, had to hear that voice again as he drowned in hedonistic momentum.

His hips bucked forward and started to thrust, no longer able to stand still. My nails pressed into his ass, through the loose black PVC gloves I had on… deeper, harder, take me, oh fucking take me, oh oh… I yanked back urgently, so fast his cock popped out of my mouth, and arched my back- I was coming. Tears were flowing down my face- I don't know when I started crying- and my orgasm’s force shook me as though struck by lightning.

He cried out loudly, and his hot metallic-musky ejaculate spattered my cheek and down my breasts while I convulsed with my own release. He slumped in exhaustion when the passion ended, hanging by his wrists from the chains that still restricted him. I held him, my arms around his thighs, slipping my cheek and lips over his skin, through the slippery wetness that carried his scent. A clip board dropped to the floor, and someone moaned, but I didn't care anymore… couldn't think anymore.

Some moments past- they had to have- but I'd lost track of time so I couldn't tell how long it had been, and I felt gentle hands under my arms help me to my feet, silently taking me out of the room. Someone else was fiddling with his shackles I know- I heard it just as I was taken off set, but a strange intimate hush reigned over the staff.

I showered off and left, and I never saw them again- but after a few days, the director called to apologize. "I'm sorry…" he sounded like he was even more uncomfortable than I was. "…I didn't intend things to go that far… I just… I had a feeling that there was something of himself that needed to be opened up for the sake of making things feel authentic, and I'd asked one of the guys before we started filming on Monday what would work to loosen him up best…" his voice trailed off into a stammer. "I… I just didn't expect what was hiding beneath..."

I hung up without reply, and dropped the cell phone on the table near my bedroom window. As I stood staring out at the rain, a shiver of lust passed through me at the memory of what had happened... on that extraordinary day.


End file.
